


In Dreams

by PraxisDescends



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, ITU Trash Crew, Under the Sapphire Sun
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Andraste Statue, Best Friends, Canticle of Trials, Chant of Light, Denial, Fade Demons, Gen, Longing, Lust Demons, Night Terrors, Original Character(s), Templars, Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PraxisDescends/pseuds/PraxisDescends
Summary: While travelling outside of Kinloch's Hold, Templar recruit Tiernan is plagued by terrible dreams that test his faith.Introspective piece about the nature of Templar self denial, the Chant of Light, and the insidious nature of demons in Dragon Age.





	In Dreams

He’d had the dream so many times before, though not since leaving the Hold. The statue of the Blessed Andraste rose before him, hands raised in supplication and acceptance. The candles all about merging a reverential glow with the soft shadows that danced in the corners of his mysterious Chantry. There were voices too, that came distant from those corners; no words though, but the unmistakable cadence of the Chant of Light.  
  
He felt her behind him without having to turn. Her small hands ghosted down his robed shoulders, which tensed in response. He’d been expecting her but the touch cut right through him, his skin tingling in her wake. Slowly he turned, a frown creasing his forehead as he took in the sight of her. She’d always worn the same shapeless white gown that only hinted at her form in ways Tiernan wished he’d been able to ignore. She was neither tall nor short, but as she teased a dark curl around her pale finger she blinked up at him with large needy eyes.  
  
“It’s been so long,” her voice was like a breeze, earnest and eager, and he could believe that he’d almost fallen for it once. Almost. She raised a hand to touch him, but he batted her away with his wrist.  
“Why am I here?” he would have no time for her games today.  
“Because you dreamed me.”  
“Not through choice.”  
“You speak as though you have a choice, Tiernan,” she breathed his name with such wanton sincerity that an insuppressible shiver wracked him. He wanted to step back away from her and towards Andraste. Yet it was taking all his effort not to instead not to reach forward and take her up in his arms, to put his lips on her perfect skin, and to damn the consequences of his frailty. The sound of his name had shaken him and he stood uncomfortably, desperate to awaken and end this ceaseless tension.  
“Why conjure these blasphemies when you know I will refuse?”  
  
She smiled in response, and in that smile was a confidence that seemed anathema to such an innocent face. She brought herself in closer to him, her eyes meeting his and glinting with a predatory hunger. Maker’s breath, he was shaking. She smelled of warm cinnamon and the sea, he wondered if that’s how she tasted. There was a blush that spread across her cheeks, and crept down her delicate throat before disappearing beneath her collar. Even as he let his mind drift to where the blush ended, he regretted it. He saw the triumphant look in her eyes and knew he couldn’t stop her.  
  
“When did you last know your own touch, Tiernan,” there was pity in her voice, her fingers reaching out to brush across the templar’s lips. His eyes were wide with fear, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move. She was taller now, her smile drew closer to his face, her scent was overpowering. “Since leaving Denerim, no? Too afraid to bathe alone in case of the violence of others, no time to yourself, too full of fear and self loathing. That must be hard for you.” She pressed her point by closing the last of the small gap between them, her thighs pressed against his, her fingers stroking down his jaw. He couldn’t breath, her words were no longer soft, her voice was bold and enticing.  
  
“You know you cannot resist me forever, there is only so much temptation that mortal flesh can take. Eventually you will submit.” The aura from the candles filled the edges of his vision, so bright it stung. She was drenched in a smoking glow. Amethyst light crowning her head in a profane halo that started in her eyes. In the darkness beyond, the chanting grew louder, reverberating in his bones, rattling his teeth: ‘ _when my eyes fail me, and the taste of blood fills my mouth_ …’ He felt her nails digging into his skin, where the abomination had cut him, his bones screaming in agony. His resolve was crumbling, she was right, but he couldn’t give in, not yet.  
  
‘... _then in the pounding of my heart I hear the glory of creation_.’ A strong hand gripped his shoulder. Cold and potent it purged the pain and lust from him. His mind was flooded with the image of Andraste. He was blacking out, she was still gripping him by the throat unwilling to let him leave, but he was in Andraste’s hands now. Tears streamed down the statue’s marble face as her favoured son was wrenched free from his nightmare and flung backwards into the Fade.  
  
Waking up to Arlan’s hand on his shoulder had become the reassuring ritual of every other night. Always with the barely murmured apology for disrupting his companion’s sleep. It hadn’t been long since the prospect of being woken up by a gruff hand would have meant being dragged of to the baths for another of Roland’s famous night beatings, or Cormack trying to scare him, or his father insisting he come to work or… this time he struggled, if only a little. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Andraste’s plan for him, but he still felt trapped between the two intense presences, his blanket high on his face. It was brushed away by a large, strong hand.  
  
“Sorry T...” Arlan muttered. His head bent close to Tiernan’s. “Your turn, seen nothing, it stopped raining.” He was fading fast even as he fumbled with the side of his armour, his hands clumsy on the buckles. His hair had come down and it fell damp and heavy into his eyes. Without hesitation, Tiernan shuffled out of his bedroll ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, his hands closing over Arlan’s. The older man smiled weakly, accepting his half-asleep failure and leaning into Tiernan’s touch. “Sorry,” he said again as he was unbuckled and unlaced, his leathers hauled over his head and propped neatly against their pack. The bracers and greaves would have to stay put tonight.

  
Tiernan still felt the rising anxiety his dream left behind. It had just been a dream, brought on by his rigid life in the crucible at Kinloch Hold. Suffering under Roland and Emryn’s tyranny, then the joyful arrival of his salvation. Guilt spiked through the young recruit’s heart as he considered his own weakness. When Arlan had given him back so much of his strength, all he could do was dream of torment and temptation. He didn’t deserve someone so able protecting him.  
  
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Tiernan whispered back firmly as he reached up to scrape back the locks of black hair. Arlan closed his eyes, a soft noise escaping his throat as the younger man ensured his face was clear before bed. As slight fingers scraped over his scalp he shivered and crumpled, moaning his need for sleep into Tiernan’s shoulder, who smiled and fastened the long strands out of the way. There was such tenderness there as the young recruit lowered him down onto the bedroll he had just vacated.

  
Tiernan smiled as he settled the blankets around his companion, pleased that the warmth he had left would go to aid his companion’s restful slumber. Cautiously he reached out to brush at the hair around the Free Marcher’s temple that had escaped his efforts. This elicited another soft groan from Arlan as he began to fall unconscious. There was something peaceful in his face that filled Tiernan with such warmth, he couldn’t keep from smiling. Imperceptibly Arlan nudged at the outstretched fingers resting on his head, and burrowed his cheek into an unfamiliar pillow. Looking at his closest friend, so content and safe Tiernan felt a swell in his chest. The words returned to him, ‘ _Then in the pounding of my heart I hear the glory of creation_.’  
Arlan always moved him to quote scripture. His nightmare had used the steady thrum of the Chant to move him to abandon his reason, but in truth it was in quiet moments of peace and joy that the words came the clearest.  
  
‘ _You have walked beside me_  
_Down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh._  
_You have stood with me when all others_  
_Have forsaken me._  
_I have faced armies_  
_With You as my shield,_  
_And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing_  
_Can break me except Your absence._  
_When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me_  
_And the taste of blood fills my mouth, then_  
_In the pounding of my heart_  
_I hear the glory of creation_.’  
  
He let his hand linger on Arlan’s cheek before, satisfied that he was fully asleep, Tiernan slipped out of the tent to begin his watch. 


End file.
